En Memorandum
by Felix3D
Summary: The world goes on. RIP, Yamguchi-Sensei.


AN: For those of you who don't know, the death of ZnT creator Noboru Yamaguchi was reported yesterday. He died of cancer at age 41 on the Fourth of April. This is a snip I wrote in response to the news on the Spacebattles Creative Writing forum.

~En Memorandum~

* * *

The colors of the sky began to fade.

The winds grew ever more gentle and still.

The sun itself began to grow dim.

Many wondered what had happened. Little to none actually knew.

Each day the world seemed to get just a bit more gray.

In elven lands, the once-active pulse of Shaitan's Gate had stopped.

In Albion, the Island shuddered and began to descend.

And around the world, life became lethargic, descending into a tired, drab existence barely holding onto conscious thought.

It hit the common people the hardest. Each day was exactly the same - no matter how long they slept, they never felt well rested.

Those with magic felt their willpower being eaten away quicker, and regenerating more slowly.

Even emotions became muted.

People, countries, even individual races began to set aside their differences in an attempt to figure out what was going wrong.

For the first time in millennia, Elves, Humans, and all the other Demi-races united to stem the tide of gray, to understand why their world was becoming so lifeless.

Finding no solution in the present, they turned to the past.

Whispers of legends and tales set before the time of Brimir began to abound - artifacts and historical relics further scrutinized - every tale, legend or myth re-examined to look for the grain of truth.

Hope began to rekindle, as one particular legend, tale, or more aptly "Mythological Creature" seemed to be noted or at least known of across all cultures.

The Dragon Prophet. The immortal scribe who watched over the world, the one who recorded the tales of Races, the one Brimir beseeched to write the first prayer book, the one who granted Anubis her second name, the one whose verses could gain physical form and become Rhyme Dragons.

The Dragon Prophet knew. The Dragon Prophet _Must_ Know. The Dragon Prophet was the only one that could know.

And it did.

Deep inside what the world called it's Nest, the archipelago that once was the holy land, its palace locked away in a still moon-lit reflective pool, the Dragon granted the races an audience.

For she too did not know all, only that her Creator, her Master, the One whom which she had scribed all of these millennia, the One who Empowered the Void, was dying.

And it was up to them, the denizens of a doomed world, to find a replacement.

To entice another being capable of playing "creator" to take over for the dying one.

To pique the interest of a being that does not even know of their existence enough for it to stay.

To enrapture, enthrall a being of immeasurable power to the point where it would like to assume the soon-to-be vacant mantle.

Some took one look at the undertaking ahead of them before consigning to their doomed fate. Such a thing was not possible.

Others thought to study the Gate, to maybe the being who powered it more.

And others decided to write, to put the story of their world down, to record how interesting their world was, to show how their world was wonderful.

In the twilight hours of their world, a small group of people decided that this was all not enough. That with the final gasps of the world they would do something drastic.

To go through the Gate, carrying the story of their world, on a one-way trip to hopefully meet one of these beings themselves and to enlighten it of their existence... or maybe even to ascend and become such a being themselves.

Nothing left to lose, they put their existences on the line.

To go where no one has gone before.

To find an Author.

* * *

_  
- /Snip - ZnT AU - "En Memorandum"

Taking the idea that Void is the "Power of Narrative"/Author fiat a bit further.

Void, at least the Origin of Void is the Author.

And once he dies, the world follows.

Of course, until another breathes life into the worlds again.

Don't be consigned to sit back and merely use platitudes of sorrow as the world moves on.

Don't sit and languish in mourning of the death of a man.

Don't cry over the demise of an unfinished world.

Keep the memory Alive.

Keep Halkegina Alive.

Keep Writing.


End file.
